


Amenta

by wherewolf



Category: Ancient Egyptian Religion
Genre: Breakfast, Gen, Slice of (a Monster God's) Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 06:00:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16470092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wherewolf/pseuds/wherewolf
Summary: Ammit awoke to yelling, as she often did.





	Amenta

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phoxinus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoxinus/gifts).



Ammit awoke to yelling, as she often did.

She took her time rising, stretching her spine forward and backwards, shaking her mighty neck from side to side. As with everything in Duat, there was a routine to the weighing of the hearts and to their aftermath. She knew she could take as long as she liked. 

Still, there was no reason to linger. Her bed of fire was but ashes, and she was hungry. So she stalked through the darkness, quieter than quiet, and came up before the scales. 

A familiar scene, described back to front: Anubis, straight-backed, unmoving. He stood darker than the darkness, so much so that the faint light of distant fires edged his upright ears in gold. In one hand he held his flail; the other hand he held empty, showing that neither unfairly tipped the scales. The scales themselves gleamed warmly in the darkness, clean still from the last time Ammit had licked the blood off every crevice. One side, high in the sky, held a curling feather; the other, drooping so low it nearly touched the floor, held a heart. 

Ammit felt her jaws part of their own accord. A heart so heavy would take longer to chew. 

Before the scales and Anubis both, a dead man yelled and cajoled and accused. Ammit could tell he had not noticed her because he did not stutter and turn white. Instead he continued in his low-pitched whine, “—and you will find, O righteous Judge, that this heart is lighter than this last trial shows, that with good testimony—”

Ammit snorted to herself and began winding her way forwards. Stronger than a river and taller than a palm, she was hard to ignore, but the man in front of her was clearly skilled at ignorance. Those who failed the trial always were. Whether they cajoled, or raged, or claimed sudden repentance, or begged as this one for a new trial – most claimed to respect the guardian of the scales, until the very moment it was time to respect the finality of their judgment.

The man finally noticed her when her lion’s forepaw brushed against his heel. He jolted and then froze at the first touch of her breath against his neck. 

He was not so tall, and he had come close to the scales to argue against them. Ammit bent her maned neck over his shoulder, rested her jagged maw against the lower scale, and opened her mouth to eat her fill.


End file.
